Skyfire by Skye Melki-Wegner Page B

hastily.
    Bastian shrugs. ‘Normally I’d take a sólfox, but I suppose I could hike for a change. Never hurts to stretch these old legs.’
    As the day wears on, I begin to decipher the workings of the village. Although everyone has a low proclivity, there are various ranks and roles. People with Earth or Water proclivities, like Bastian, work as firestone scouts. They scour the nearby landscape for stones, and use their powers to pry the bounty from the ground.
    Those with Flame proclivities, like Maisy, tend to work in the kitchen or the blacksmith’s cabin. And when they’ve proven themselves trustworthy, I suspect that Lukas and Teddy will be given charge of the sólfox stable.
    But some proclivities are useless in this treetop society. If Clementine develops something like Dust or Reptile, she’ll face a life of mindless labour: scrubbing floors, washing dishes and hauling sacks of grain. And as for me …
    Well, I’m lucky to have a life at all.
    Meals are shared in the kitchen, under the eyes of the villagers. We eat bowls of steaming rice and nuts, finished with roseberries. No one speaks to me, butI spot a few nervous glances at the back of my neck. Víndurnics, it seems, don’t give their trust away easily. They hoard it carefully, as precious as firestones.
    â€˜They still think you’ve got a temporal proclivity,’ Lukas whispers.
    I force myself to shrug, trying to look casual. ‘They’ll see I’m not dangerous soon enough.’
    â€˜And hey,’ Teddy says, through a bulging mouthful, ‘at least they’ve got some different flavours. I’ve had enough apricot syrup for a lifetime.’

    In the afternoon, we’re allocated our first jobs. Maisy stokes the blacksmith’s fire, while Lukas is sent to harvest nuts from the forest. The rest of us work in the kitchen.
    Since dinner isn’t for hours, we have the room to ourselves. I use the chance to practise my illusion skills. I try concealing a hand, or changing the colour of my hair. I force myself to hold each illusion for longer and longer – even up to five minutes, with a sheen of sweaty concentration.
    â€˜Geez, Danika,’ Teddy says, noting my exhaustion. ‘You look like a guard’s been chasing you all over Rourton.’
    I blow out a hard breath. ‘An illusion just saved my life, Teddy – and not for the first time.’
    â€˜Yeah, but –’
    â€˜I’ve got to keep practising.’ I hoist a sack of grain onto the scales. ‘No excuses. Not any more. If I’ve got an advantage, I’m damn well going to use it properly. What if it’s the difference between life and death?’
    Teddy frowns, but doesn’t argue. We wait for the scale to measure the grain, and I paint my hands into a mirage of glinting glass.
    â€˜Very nice,’ Clementine says.
    I look up at her, a little surprised. The others take my illusions for granted now; no one ever comments on my performance. But Clementine is studying the skim of magic closely, with a faint smile on her lips.
    â€˜It’s just an illusion,’ I say.
    â€˜Yes, but it looks stronger than usual.’
    I glance back down at my hands. The ripple of unnatural air does seem a little more solid than usual. A thicker sort of brushstroke on my flesh.
    We peel potatoes and wash a sack of nutty brown rice, while Teddy volunteers for peanut duty. This is supposed to involve shelling the nuts to cook with the rice, but in Teddy’s case it includes ‘accidentally’ flicking bits of peanut shell in Clementine’s direction.
    â€˜Stop it!’ she hisses, swatting at the air.
    â€˜Sorry.’ Teddy grins. ‘Too powerful, I reckon. Don’t know my own strength.’
    Another chunk of peanut shell goes flying.
    Clementine raises her paring knife. ‘If one more piece of peanut gets stuck in my hair, Teddy Nort, you’ll have cause to worry